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A Trio of Sonnets
by Deborah Russell
This love is like any other, but quite less.
No beautiful clouds, no particular rose
but different, much different, from the rest.
Maybe it is just the way the sunlight glows?
I stretch my fingers across the painted sill.
Lightly tap my nails upon the coloured pane,
knowing every move takes great strength and will.
It's not easy feeling we've loved in vain.
Oh, the sky! How blue, how very blue it is.
And this grass, it's perfect green will never last.
Still, we dream of meeting on a sacred night
where our love's passion returns us, simply white.
A Silent Passion
I hear the summer breeze toss around
a casual melancholy note or two
it's silent passion writes, as sweet as dew
upon white leaves, new poetry is found
Then - earth's full and ripe; symphony abound
pure melodies of distant tones and hue
all birds hushed, jealous, in blossomed trees
would time still itself, to your bended knees
streams gently flow inside the misty seas?
I'd memorize a song we'd never known.
How silent, water ripples over rocks,
the quietude that rests in creeping phlox
and reads all beauty in our timeless tome
A Distant Breeze
The mist of summer still, in fallen leaves
It's colour swirls along a river's edge
Where autumn's lonesome whisper sighs and heaves
And dreams embraced and laced a graceful ledge
The twilight rains complain to dying greens
A silent movement; a weeping circumstance
That stirs a distant breeze to grasp a scene
When romance was young - purely happenstance
An urgent winter waits impatiently
The hungry season, hurries out of time
As dream returns and takes itself to sea
Where love keeps slipping in and out of mind